


Just because you despise me (you are the only one I can trust)

by bettsc



Series: Cooper and Jones [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017), bughead - Fandom
Genre: 1940s AU, A whole lotta banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Lots of 1940s lingo and fluff, Private Investigators, Slow Burn, They have a healthy rivalary, and then they started investigating each other, sleuthing bughead, you could cut the tension with a swtichblade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 21:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettsc/pseuds/bettsc
Summary: The door swings open slowly, and he can’t believe his eyes.The only other Private Investigator in New York City worth their salt and every bit his rival.And coincidentally, the only dame to ever make Jughead’s heart beat right out of his chest.





	Just because you despise me (you are the only one I can trust)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by our favorites and love of sleuthing. 
> 
> A huge hug and thank you to the incredible kawaiikitsune13 for their incredible beta-ing! xoxo

**_Manhattan, 1948_ **

Jughead’s day starts off like any other, fingers carding their way through his raven locks and a pounding in his head. It’s not from the booze or the pills that sent his father, Forsythe Pendleton Jones II, straight down a path of self-implosion. No, the ache comes from the sleepless hours of the night before.

He’d been tailing someone for a case and it wasn’t until very late (or early morning, he’s not sure) when he was finally able to get the pictures he needed and stop traipsing all over Chinatown. The client had hired him to tail his business partner, whom he suspected was siphoning off parts of their equipment for a quick profit.

Weeks later, Jughead finally captured a photo of the business partner in question not only shaking hands with the buyer but handling the merchandise himself. The minute he snapped that photo, the case was closed.

He trudged back to his apartment and barely fell into bed before he heard the shrill sound of his alarm go off. He knows that the quicker he gets up and into the office to type out the final report and send it off to his client, the faster he gets the second half of his payment.

He grabs a clean shirt and tucks it into his trousers before padding into the kitchen area of his small apartment. He sets the coffee percolator on the stove before sitting down at the table in his kitchen which currently serves as more of a makeshift desk.  

The heat wave that’s been washing over Manhattan has been brutal; barely eight o’clock and he feels the sweat start bead on his upper lip as he steps out into the warm morning. There is very little that brings the city of New York to a halt and so he’s not surprised that most people are out and about on their way before the sun reaches its peak.

He stops at the corner, tossing the paperboy a nickel and grabbing a copy of the _New York Times_. He glances briefly at the headline on the front before walking inside the building:

**_HEIR TO THE BLOSSOM MAPLE FORTUNE STILL MISSING_ **

It had been months since Jason Blossom’s face graced the front page of every paper in New York. The young heir had been a real standup guy in his platoon over in the pacific, but something in him had snapped when he returned. Before his face was making front page news, his mug-shot and several other candid shots of him at _The Stork Club_ had appeared in the lifestyle section of the paper. Set to inherit the entirety of the Blossom maple syrup enterprise, his family paid for good PR citing that “he was just blowing off steam.”

 _Of course,_ he thinks to himself. With money came power and with power came the ability to numb you’re your memories of the war and indulge in the finer things in life. Jughead knew it, still knows it. Hell, he spent three years in and around the Western theatre photographing and writing about most of it.

He’s still got the Blossom boy on his mind when he walks into the building and steps into the elevator. _J. Jones Private Investigation_ is located on the 12th floor of the Broadman building.

“Well, don't you just look like hell, Sunshine.”

“Good morning to you too, Ronnie.”

The woman in question, his office assistant, is Veronica- a fiery dame with a tongue as sharp as the heels on her feet. Born and raised on the Upper East Side amongst Manhattan’s elite, she threw away her pedigree to fall in love with a ginger-haired lug from Newark. Needless to say, Mommy and Daddy weren’t too thrilled when the two had run off to city hall to get hitched but they’d both never been happier. It just so happens that the ginger haired Lug was none other than Jughead’s oldest pal, Archie Andrews.

She’s perched on the side of the desk and like always, dressed far more extravagantly than her job requires. Jughead had told her so once- and will never revisit that conversation nor the piercing glare she gave him for a full week after.

_“I will wear my pearls every goddamned day, I please, Jughead.”_

He supposes she adds a little more flair and professionalism to the office- which isn’t too much write home about. Besides his office, there was a small waiting area with Veronica’s desk and a couple of chairs for the clients.  

She gives him an appraising once over, “Seriously, Jug. You look like you’re carrying suitcases under your eyes. Is it safe to assume you stayed to tail O’Connor and nabbed those pictures?”

He pulls the camera out of his bag and puts it down on her desk. “Another case shut and closed by J. Jones.”

“Excellent work. I’ll phone the client and let him know we expect the check by the end of the week.” She turns back to her papers but not before adding, “I’ll throw on another pot of coffee for you too. You’ve got a client consultation this morning and you’ll want to be tip top for this one.”

He sighs, “No rest for the wicked, I suppose.”

He walks into his office, closes his door behind him and plops down in the rickety chair behind his desk. Papers, files and photographs are strewn about the desk and alongside his typewriter. It does look a little unkempt, he thinks. He’s never been what some would consider a slob, but there’s a bit of organized chaos in it all that he finds comfort in. Everything he needs is there, but only he understands the way it’s laid out.

There’s no reprieve from the stuffy warmth of his office so he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work, recounting the now closed O’Connor case. He stares at the typewriter in front of him, willing the words and images in his mind to come forth. Soon all he can hear is the sound of his fingers clacking on the typewriter and its cathartic rhythm. The dream is to turn his sleuthing adventures into an actual published book one day.

Despite his occupation, Jughead had always been fond of the written word. He’d grown up in a small town upstate, on the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. He learned from a young age of the escapism in literature and it fueled his career.

How he’d gotten into PI work was almost an accident, really. His father had been the leader of a somewhat nefarious local gang, The Serpents. Jughead picked up odd jobs and managed to eventually score a small column in the town’s local paper hoping to avoid the clutches of gang life. He’d always looked up to journalists like Henry Luce and even fancied himself somewhat of an Arthur Conan Doyle. It’s the reason why whenever any type of mystery hit the town or local area, he’d be the one to figure it out.

He’d met his best friend Archie Andrews during the same time. During a particularly slow news period, Jughead took a job as a sparring partner at a local boxing gym. The gym itself was on the up and up, but the underground betting ring associated with it, resided under the Serpents’ rule.  

When the war broke out, him and Archie both got shipped off to basic training and then over to Europe. They were stationed in and around France and Italy for almost two years, and while they were there Jughead continued to write. He even managed to purchase a camera at one point and it’s through his writing and photography that he tried to document everything he saw and experienced. Veronica told him the writing was his way of dealing with the aftermath. Archie and him both made it out physically, but there are still dreams that left Jughead in a cold sweat at night.

He and Archie had settled down in New York when they returned. Archie found reprieve playing music gigs around Manhattan and Jughead found it in the private investigation world. It started when a long time Serpent reached out to him, wanting to find out some intel on a current member. Jughead was hesitant at first, he’d left that life behind and managed to get out of the Serpents, but the job paid well and that’s what he needed at the time.

Turns out an older Serpent had been siphoning off some of the products there were moving in and out of Manhattan to a rival gang. What the products were, Jughead never wanted to know. It felt good to stretch his investigative muscles again and that’s how J. Jones Private Investigation began.

It’s around mid-afternoon when he gets up to stretch after sitting hunched over the typewriter for several hours. Just before he was shipped home in ‘45, his reserve had been ambushed where he’d gotten a piece of shrapnel in his shoulder that to this day still gives him trouble. He rolls a cigarette and lights up and staring out the window and down onto the bustling avenue.

The whir of the oscillating fan does little to push around the stagnant humid Manhattan air around his tiny office.

He takes a puff of his cigarette, and then there’s a knock on his door.

“Yeah, come on in,” he says gruffly as puts out his cigarette.

The door swings open slowly, and he can’t believe his eyes.

The only other Private Investigator in New York City worth their salt and every bit his rival.

And coincidentally, the only dame to ever make Jughead’s heart beat right out of his chest.

_Elizabeth Cooper._

They stand there, staring at one another, neither one moving to greet the other first. She’s dressed to the nines, her golden hair pulled back and covered with a deep green tricorn; the same dazzling shade as her deep green eyes. He thinks he sees a glimmer of warmth in them too, before it’s replaced by the extraordinarily beautiful but steely resolve he’s become so fond of.  

He gives in first, “Betty Cooper, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Always a pleasure, Jones.”

...

It was a classic case of mistaken identity and a little bit of fate that brought them together.

They met while he was pursuing a case that led him to The Whyte Wyrm, a somewhat seedy club in Hell’s Kitchen. Jughead had been tailing a few thugs who’d been linked to some local burglaries when he stepped into the club one night and first saw her.

The gal was an angel personified, belting out a tune on stage. Her voice was every bit as mesmerizing as the emerald of her eyes, and when they met his, he felt the world shift in front of him. If she felt it too, she didn’t let on and finished out the song beautifully. Before he knew it, his feet were guiding him to her, case forgotten for now as he asked to buy her a drink.

She introduced herself as Elizabeth, and he was immediately taken with her. Not to mention, she was every bit his dream girl; blonde, beautiful and stacked. He felt like the luckiest bastard in the joint when she’d said yes to him.  

Little does he know that he’d just sat down with Manhattan’s only female private investigator, and a helluva one at that. He’d heard of a private investigator by the name of Cooper, always jumping on cases and getting to clients just before him. It was maddening, and despite his own best efforts to search out the identity of the illusive PI, he’d come up empty handed.

“So, what brings a beautiful voice like yours into a place like this?”

“This and that, mostly just wanted a place that would have me on stage,” she says demurely as she sips her drink.

He smirks into his own drink, “ _Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world.”_ She laughs, a delicate but deep sound, and he feels a warmth spread inside that he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. Like the bitter cold of winter finally meeting spring.

They talk for hours, trading stories of life in New York. He remembers at one point that he is still technically on his case so when she asks what he does for a living he tells her he’s a writer. It’s not lying _per se_ , just omitting the other part of his job.  

“So, what’s with the pin in your cap, you the king of something?” She asks him and gestures to the grey Stacy Adam hat on his head.

The pin in question, a small crown, had been a gift from his father. He’d given it him when he told him about opening his own PI office. _You’re your own boss now, boy. The king of your own kingdom._

“Sentimental gift from my old man.”

She gives him a wolfish grin. “I like it, it suits you.”

She excuses herself to the powder room at one point and as he awaits her return, Jughead feels her presence before he sees her. Her lips a quiet whisper in his ear, “Want to get out of here, baby?”

She smelled like honey and sounded like sin.

“Yes...Yes,” he cleared his throat trying to compose himself.  “I’ll grab our coats.”

He, unlike Archie, never had a sweetheart waiting for him when he returned from the war. To be fair, Archie had _several_ waiting for him-but not Jughead. He appreciated the female form just as much as the next guy and taken a few girls out here and there, but never quite reached that level of love or deep intimacy for anyone. He enjoyed his solitary lifestyle, albeit a bit sullen and moody at times according to Veronica.

They stepped out into the cool night air and it felt electric, the way her hand grazed his. Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was just her, but he felt bold enough to intertwine their fingers. She smiled slyly as she stopped, and the proceeded to pull him into a nearby alley. The next thing he knows, she pushes him lightly up against the wall. He senses the opportunity and leans to kiss her, startled when he feels something cold on his shoulder and not her lips on his. He looks down and sees she’s holding a small Beretta.

“Alright, you’re going to tell me who your boss is, or else. Understand?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve blondie. I don’t know what the hell you’re going on about.”

She arches her brow, “I am not playing around. You and your boys have been giving me the run around for weeks and I am getting real tired.” She presses the gun into him just a bit harder.

Though still in shock he decides to play it smart considering all he had on him was his switchblade; and you never bring a knife to a gunfight.

“Look,” he says calmly. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not who you think I am, and I have nothing to do with what you’re talking about. I have my ID in my pocket, if you’ll be a doll and just lower the gun, I’ll get it out and show you.” He raises one eyebrow, “Alright?”

She looks at him sternly and then concedes. “Fine, but no funny business.”

Jughead tries control the smirk threatening to break out across his face because if she wasn’t pointing a gun at him, he’d be awfully fond of that tone of voice she was using. He reaches slowly into his coat pocket and pulls out his PI badge and hands it to her.

She snaps it from his hand and gives it a look and says through gritted teeth. “Private Investigator? You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

He shrugs a shoulder, “Sorry to disappoint you, doll face. Now, mind putting that thing away?” He gestures towards the Beretta.  

To her credit, a look of embarrassment crosses her face and then says with exasperation, “I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve been on this case for weeks almost months now and every time I think I have a lead-”

“Wait,” he puts up a hand to stop her, “What do you mean _case_? You a cop?” He knew back at the club she wasn’t a regular dame, he’d gathered that she was whip smart and talented. If he wasn’t intrigued before he is now.

She scoffs, “Please. You know they don’t let women anywhere near the academy.” She put the small gun back in her clutch and pulls out her own ID card. Jughead’s mouth nearly drops to the ground when he sees her name.

“Elizabeth _Cooper_? You’re _Cooper_? The PI everyone talks about?” He shakes his head in slight awe, “You found the missing jewels that the Met Director had smuggled. And exposed the mayor’s involvement in that prostitution ring. _That_ Cooper?”

“The very one.” There’s a steely pride in her eyes and he knows that look; like someone who is familiar with defending themselves. He’s now not surprised by Manhattan’s top PI being a woman, someone with assured intelligence and gumption like her.

He lets out a low whistle, “Well then, it’s certainly a pleasure.”

She seems thrown by his words and his extended hand. She takes it hesitantly, “Thank you. I can’t tell if there’s any sarcasm there but I’m going to pretend there isn’t.”

“I promise there’s not, just pure praise and awe.” Her cheeks flush at his words, and it makes something in his heart flutter.

“I’ll be honest, that’s not the usual response I get. It’s nice to meet you too, Jones. I’ve heard about your work, really very thorough.” She adds with a sheepish smile, “Also, I’m sorry about the gun, you know how it is in this line of work.”

“All is forgiven, just glad we figured all this out before a bigger mess was made.” He puts his ID back inside his coat pocket. What are the chances that the angel in front of him is none other than Elizabeth Cooper. He’s amazed just how dizzy he is for this dame and finds himself not wanting to say goodbye to her just yet. “So, is there a chance we can pick up where we left off?”

“Of course not, you lied to me.”

“Wait- _what_?”

“You lied about being a writer when you’re really a PI. Not the best way to start off a relationship now is it? So no thank you, Jones.” She turns and starts to walk down the alley.

He scratches his chin in thought, “So you think our evening is a start of a relationship, huh?”

Not amused by his question, she rolls her eyes and starts to walk back down the alley.

He calls after her, “Cooper, wait!”

He catches up easily with his long stride and walks alongside her. “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you that I’m also a PI. I do write though, in my spare time. Come on, you of all people know how it is when you’re on a case. Go to dinner with me, we can try this again.”

There’s a look of defiance on her face but the small upward tilt of her lips is unmistakable. She looks at him for a moment, and then sighs, “We’ll see Jones, why don’t you look me up when you finish the case you’re on?”

She’s playing hard to get, and he likes it. “Alright then, to be continued.”

Jughead gives her a nod and watches as she turns to leave, trying to avert his eyes from the sway of her perfect hips.

She stops short and turns around, “Oh, Jones?

“Hmm?”

“You can call me Betty.”

With a wink she’s gone, and he’s left standing on the street.

Dizzy for the dame, indeed.

...

 

In the time between their fateful first meeting at The Whyte Wyrm and now, Betty Cooper cracked two huge cases- one of which also sought out Jughead. The client hired them both to cover all their bases. It wasn’t until he ran into Betty on the same dock that they realized they were chasing the same end. Much to his chagrin, Betty cracked the case the night before he did.

She still hadn’t let him take her out, but he enjoyed the feeling of a palpable and electric chemistry simmering between them when they did run into one another. She was smart and cunning, and he wanted nothing more than to get inside that beautiful head of hers. Perhaps it was the chase or the way she never faltered in her cases, but there was something about Betty Cooper that kept him coming back.

Since then, they’ve had developed what he would consider a healthy rivalry.

Back in his tiny office, Jughead felt a flush of heat blossoming on his neck and he knows one thing for sure: it isn’t because of the heat wave.

“So, what brings you to this part of the island?”

“Just couldn’t wait to run into you on some dark dock again.”

He smiles smugly, “You know, if you’re so desperate to see me again, all you had to do was make an appointment.”

Betty rolls her eyes at him playfully but before she can speak, a whirlwind of expensive fur and red hair storms into his office.

The whirlwind in question is none other than Cheryl Blossom, the sister of one-missing Jason Blossom.

“Jughead Jones, this whole mess is just dreadful. I require your assistance.” The woman plops herself down dramatically into one of his chairs and blots at her forehead with her delicate red handkerchief. “Betty, darling, see if that delight out there has any cold water. This office is hotter than Hades.”

Betty rolls her eyes at Cheryl, “Anything for you, Cher.” He detects a hint of sarcasm and attempts to reign in the grin threatening to break out across his lips.

“Ms. Blossom, what can I do for you?”

“I need your help to find my brother and word on the street is that you’re one of the best.”

 “I’m flattered but isn’t the police department and missing persons on the case? Why not just let them do their job?”

“Because you ghoul, they obviously haven’t been doing their job otherwise they’d have found my dear JJ by now. I want you on his case and money is no object, so name your price.”

He extinguishes his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk and stands up to look out the window. If he could crack it and find Jason, there’s no doubt that his business would skyrocket. Then maybe just maybe he could afford to take a little time off and finally finish his novel. He turns back to Cheryl and offers her his hand, “Ms. Blossom, I believe we have a deal.”

Her cherry red nails scratch against his palm and the red of her lip curls upward.  “Excellent.”

“I’ll let Veronica know and she’ll type up the paperwork. Now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions-”

“Did he agree?” Betty waltzes back in handing Cheryl a glass of water.

“He did, dear cousin.”

 _Cousin? Betty is a Blossom?_ There’s a look of confusion on his face at the revelation but he continues on, “I did. And I was just about to get started on any leads, before your interrupted us.”

Jughead throws her a playful yet challenging look as she grabs a small black notebook out of her purse and flips through it. “Alright then, no time like the present. So far I’ve questioned the staff at the Blossom offices and building-”

“Great, I’ll take those notes now.” He goes to reach for them from her and she pulls them back to her chest.

“Look here, Jones. If we’re going to work together on this-”

“Whoa there, blondie. Who said anything about working on this together?”

Betty looks to Cheryl, “Cher, you said he agreed to this?”

There’s an impish grin on her face. “He did. I told you, I always require the best and my dear Cousin Betty here is the best, you’re the second best and together I know that you will find JJ.”

He looks at Betty and sees that stubborn but beautiful look on her face he’s grown so fond of, “I’d understand if this is too difficult a case for you-”

“Consider me all in, Cooper.”


End file.
